Short stories with a comical twist on the daily obstacles, aka adventures, of parenthood

Category: Dora’s Stories Page 1 of 3

Baby Dora playing Butterfly Concerto

Butterfly Concerto

“Eh!” I exclaim. Mommy is cleaning the table.

“Eh Eh!” I shout louder this time. Mommy finally turns around and looks at me.

“Dora! How did you get up on the piano again!? You are only 8 months old!” She runs across the living room towards me, extending her hands out as far as possible as if they can stretch like a rubber band. 

Don’t worry; I won’t fall; this is my daily exercise.

She should know by now that I have magical powers.

“Eh eh wa,” I reply. The parents like to place me on the floor but didn’t realize I am practicing for a reward.

“Eh,” I point outside the window with one finger.

She looks outside. Two beautiful yellow swallowtail butterflies are dancing in the garden, fluttering from one flower to the next. 

“Wow, good job Dora. The butterflies are so pretty, thank you for telling me,” Mommy says.

Mommy stands next to me as I bob up and down in excitement, playing Butterfly Concerto on the piano. 

“Let’s get closer,” she picks me up and walks towards the door. 

Standing in the garden, we admire the butterflies the size of Mommy’s palms. Then all of a sudden, another butterfly swoops from the sky and chases after them around the flower bushes.

After a few minutes, they flew away, the biggest one taking the lead as if saying, “Tag, you’re it!”

A Baby’s Early Puberty – The Acne Party

At 8 months old, I got my first taste of early puberty—acne of various sizes emerged from the least expected areas – Hand, Foot, and Mouth. I even felt some in my armpit and in between my buttcrack. The acne infestation resulted in a 102 fever and body aches. Every movement felt painful; even my usual magical power was useless. While the burning sensation spread from my chest to my head, my parents thought it would be fun to inject cherry syrup, called “medicine” in my mouth EVERY FEW HOURS.

Oh, my mouth, my poor mouth.

Do you know what’s worse than having two pimples in the back of your mouth that you can’t reach? – Staring at a warm bottle of milk but unable to drink it because the excruciating pain from suckling outweighs hunger. Even my favorite pacifier was useless during this week-long event while my mouth hosted the Acne Party.

Can you imagine how much screaming was involved when I was hungry, sleepy, and in pain – all day?

Luckily, after a week, the Acne Party finally packed its bags to find a new victim, leaving behind a trail of tears and scars. If this is early puberty, I can’t even imagine what teenage puberty will be like.

Can I always be a baby?

Baby Dora’s Duck Face

“What is that face, Dora?” Mommy asked with a chuckle as she pressed her fingers on my pouted lips. As if she can flatten my muscles and mold them at her will. 

I am not a baby anymore; I’m 15 months old already!

From my weeks of thorough analysis, the puckered lips served as an effective mechanism for seeking attention when I am sad, hurt, and embarrassed. This duck face periodically gets the “awws” from strangers when I get shy. Sometimes, I even get a hug when I put on the duck face while deep in thought.

Who would’ve thought that the duck face is so popular? 

“Wah nwah,” I said, turning my head to escape her outreached arms. With my scrunched-up face and pouted lips, I pushed my cheeks up and squinted my eyes as if I could wring them like a wet rag. Humph! The audacity of this woman! How dare she deny me a second serving of Lindt truffle!? Is that too much to ask from your perfect, chubby kid!?

I gazed down as my upper lip covered my nostrils and inhaled deeply. Then slowly walked away as Mommy tried to hug me again. 

I am savoring every minute of guilt so she can’t deny chocolates again. 

Unfortunately, the duck face is useless against Mommy’s stubbornness this time. I should’ve slowly eaten that first one instead of plopping it in my mouth; I wasted a few drops of precious chocolate as it dripped out the corner of my mouth because the round chocolate ball was too big. C’est la vie. 

Shoe Eating is a Crime

Don’t put it in your mouth! I said to myself. 

My hands move closer to my lips. Are my hands disconnected from my brain? They are not listening to me. 

Don’t do it! I concentrate my 6-month-old brain to set those hands down. 

Mommy will be mad at you, don’t you dare! I scream internally. 

The grip got tighter. Uh Oh, this is bad.

Mommy bolts from around the corner, snatching the black sneaker out of my hands. “No, Dora! Stop eating shoes,” she exclaimed. 

I look at her, relieved. Crisis avoided… Nice save! 

She picks me up and places me back on the mat full of toys, about 8 feet away from the shoe drawer. “Dora, stay here while I cook dinner, please,” as she puts a singing bunny in front of me. She walks back into the kitchen. 

My arms and legs uncontrollably start crawling towards the shoe rack. Oh no! Not again!? 

Izzy is cooking in her little kitchenette in the corner. “Wahh… Agh… Ahh,” I whimper for help. Can someone please stop my limbs? I like toes, not shoes.

Is Your Feet Salty Too?

Mommy is lying on her back in a sea of toys on the floor. Her arms and legs extended like a starfish. This is my opportunity. As a 7-month-old, I can’t waste any more time.
I quickly crawl towards her, so fast that my hands slapping the wooden floor make putter-platter sounds like a fish swimming on land.

I sat down next to the bottom of her feet, her toes pointing upwards.

With a big inhale, I lean over and take a bite of her biggest toe.

Success! The distressed, red toenails had been intriguing me since I’ve been able to see color. I finally got a taste of it. Her toe fit snuggly in my tiny mouth. Quite salty, actually, but tastes better than Izzy’s shoes. I lean forward for another sample of the other toes, but Mommy flings her legs out of reach and shouts, “No biting toes, Dora!”

A big, sheepish smile runs across my face, showcasing my two front teeth.

Mommy scowls as she picks me up and squeezes me lovingly against her chest. Maybe she secretly likes her toes bitten…

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